


bruises on both my knees for you

by danykindaforgot



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (Which eventually gets resolved but yeah), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Background Relationships, Brief Daenerys/Daario - Freeform, Cheating, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Medium Burn, Mentions of Drogo/Daenerys, Morally Grey Characters, Smangst, Smut + angst, Unresolved Sexual Tension, modern incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danykindaforgot/pseuds/danykindaforgot
Summary: “You are insufferable. A control freak! You always need everyone around you bowing down like you’re some kind of Queen. You don’t care about others’ feelings, only yours matter.”“Yeah? Well, you’re – you’re—”“I’m what? Pretty little head can’t come up with an insult?”“You’re lying to yourself. You like your life here. You have ambitions, I see it in your eyes. You want things for yourself, but you tell yourself you can’t have them because you feel the need to please your boring, old-fashioned Northern family.”“What do you think I want so bad, Daenerys?” he growled at her, eyes challenging.Daenerys loved a good challenge. She met his eyes fiercely, let the unspoken truth slip free from her red lips. “Me. You want me.”Or, in which Rhaegar dies and decides to leave the Targaryen mansion, the one that had been passed down for several generations now, to both his sister and his son.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Ygritte (minor-ish)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

Daenerys did not plan to arrive in the _middle_ of the funeral. Truthfully, she’d expected this miserable affair to be done and over with by the time she climbed out of her car, black heels clicking on the pavement as she slowed down, cursing under her breath. “It’s not over yet,” she muttered to Tyrion, aggravated to find the large gathering in the garden, all listening intently to someone who was speaking. She could not tell who it was yet, she was too far away.

“That’s alright, Daenerys. It’s your brother’s funeral. Maybe assisting _some_ of it isn’t that bad,” The Lannister man who had worked for her for over three years now suggested, a hint of sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“Says the man who skipped his sister’s funeral.”

“Cersei was an evil woman.”

“So was Rhaegar.”

He sighed. “Your brother marrying a girl your family did not agree upon cannot be compared to the things my sister did. Do you know she suggested to have me up for adoption when I was a kid? She said it in front of my face, too!”

“How sad,” Daenerys muttered emotionlessly, eyes still fixed on the Stark backyard where the ceremony went on. She stopped a few feet away from where she could enter and join them. “Do I just wait here for it to be over or—”

“Daenerys?”

The silver-haired woman froze up at the familiar voice. Slowly, she turned her head and met the eyes of…was it Robin? Robert? She could never tell, Ned Stark had too many children for her to care. But Robb was the nicest of them all. Well, as nice as he could be with her anyway. “Hi,” she greeted, settling on a tone that was neither too happy nor too depressing.

Robb smiled a bit. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s late. Gods, the traffic up in main was…ugh.” He shook his head a bit, and then blue eyes softened as they met hers again. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Rhaegar was so young. Didn’t deserve this.”

 _He kinda did though_ _,_ Daenerys thought bitterly. “Yes. Very tragic, indeed,” she answered, hoping she managed to convey her sincerity.

The Stark boy nodded.

“Well, shall we go in?” Tyrion butted in.

Daenerys supposed she did not have any valid reasons not to.

She was not one to be nervous, but she just did not like this place. The North was dull. Northerners were a bunch of grumpy men and women who were narrow-minded and, truth be told, xenophobic. They made their distaste for foreigners very clear. 

Robb was noticed and welcomed almost right away. His other siblings—the tall red-haired girl, short brown-haired girl, two other little boys, all whose names Daenerys would not bother recall because they did not like her very much—all came to him straight away, hugging him, all sad and emotional, lost in their little bubble. Rhaegar always compared the Starks to wolves, saying they were a _pack,_ stronger together. Daenerys supposed he was right.

The Targaryen girl was left alone with Tyrion, in the far, far back of the yard. The other Starks noticed her, but their gazes were unkind and uninviting. It was ironic, how they were consoling Robb more than her, given it was _her_ brother who was in that black coffin and not his. Not that she cared. The Starks never liked her. And she absolutely despised them.

“This place is just a Stark family gathering,” Daenerys told Tyrion, distastefully. She could not spot one strand of blonde-silver hair on any head except her own. Which was understandable, since Rhaegar gave up on his family entirely once he married that Northern girl, leaving everything behind for a nice pair of tits - as their father often put it, in crude words.

“You’re here,” Tyrion said softly, “I’m sure your brother would appreciate that.”

Daenerys and Rhaegar never had the chance to be close, as he’d decided to move away to Winterfell once he’d announced that he was in love with a Northerner. _Not close_ were not exactly the correct terms—he tried to create a relationship with her (Rhaegar tried to befriend everyone, which was obnoxious) but she wanted none of that. Daenerys was loyal to her blood. The Targaryens pretty much ruled over King's Landing, they were millionaires, and one had to be dense to leave all that wealth behind for a normal woman. Lyanna was a nurse and she met Rhaegar when he visited Winterfell for business. He was in a car accident and she was assigned to him at the clinic. At the few family dinners Rhaegar had invited Daenerys over to, when she was too young to refuse, he'd explained that it was love at first sight.

Rhaegar was no prince charming.

He was a selfish man and a horrible brother. 

“Not willingly,” she reminded Tyrion. “I’m here for one reason only.”

Tyrion sighed quietly. Daenerys rolled her eyes. They were quite the pair—Tyrion was good with business but he was also sentimental. Soft inside. Daenerys was all business. He balanced her out, and she needed him more than she cared to admit. But their differences also made for a very annoying relationship.

Now, Lyanna Stark stood at the mic. Her hair was longer than Daenerys remembered. She had not seen her brother's wife in a very long time. It must have been at least five years. She _was_ a pretty woman, but not pretty enough to give one's family up for. Lyanna brushed away her tears before starting, “Rhaegar was a good husband, a good father and above all, a good _person._ He was kind and considerate. He liked his tea very hot in the morning.” A few sad chuckles spread over the crowd. “He could be funny one second and serious the other. I mean that. On the night he asked me to marry him, he’d just cracked a joke about eggs a few seconds before he dropped to his knees. I was still recovering from my laughter and suddenly had to process that he was asking me to be his wife.” More laughter.

Daenerys groaned internally.

“He is the love of my life,” Lyanna whispered. “And, and I—I—” Her voice broke, unable to finish her sentence, for which Daenerys praised the Old Gods and the New.

Daenerys looked down at Tyrion, about to comment on the ridiculousness of the situation when she noticed how watery her employee’s eyes had gotten. “Are you _crying_?” she asked incredulously.

Tyrion sniffed and pried his eyes away. “Nope. Just a…dirt. Yup. Dirt in my eyes.”

“Gods, get yourself together,” Daenerys scoffed. “She obviously planned this out, rehearsed in front of the mirror and did her little act here.”

“Daenerys, you seriously need to learn what having emotions means,” Tyrion deadpanned.

She made a face but said nothing.

Finally, the funeral came to a depressing conclusion.

_Now’s time for business._

* * *

“Maybe you should let _me_ talk to her.”

“Tyrion, I can fight my own battles.”

“I know, and that’s the point! This is not a battle, Daenerys. This is…family.”

“They’re not my family.”

“Rhaegar was. Listen, just approach this gently. You have to understand this is a very difficult time for them, okay? So…gentle. Slow. Respectful.”

“Tyrion?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

She sped up, leaving him behind, entering Lyanna’s house in quick, brusque steps, eyes fixed on her target.

Lyanna was near the staircase, surrounded by family members. They were whispering to the weeping woman, trying to soothe her down.

Daenerys cleared her throat.

All heads turned to her.

Rhaegar’s wife finally looked in her direction. Bloodshot eyes grew in recognition, her lips parting slightly. “Daenerys,” she breathed out, her voice groggy, “Oh, you came.” Another wave of emotion hit her, and tears welled up in her eyes once more. “I’m so very happy to see you here.”

She glared at the other women still standing around. Tyrion always said she had a deadly look. And it seemed to work, as they all hurried away. Now alone with her sister-in-law, Daenerys offered the most sympathetic smile she could manage. “I’m sorry, Lyanna.”

Lyanna nodded, and silence fell over them.

Daenerys shifted on her feet awkwardly. _Okay, that was nice enough._ “Actually, we need to talk about Rhaegar’s will.”

Dark eyes met hers questioningly before they widened. “Oh. Oh, gods.”

“What?”

“Rhaegar…he wrote a letter. For you. I would've completely forgotten. Let me go get it.”

Daenerys’ lips twitched but she did not smile triumphantly, not yet anyway. But as soon as Lyanna walked away, a grin broke out on her face. Finally. The time had come.

“I’m surprised you came.”

The hairs on her neck stood up.

That voice.

Daenerys turned, slowly, and she would be lying if she said she was not taken aback (just a bit) by _his_ appearance. She remembered him as the little boy with wild, unbound curls who struggled to grow a moustache.

Now, he clearly had no trouble to do so. A strong jawline accentuated with dark, trimmed hair, his curls now bound and kept tidy in a bun, his grey eyes inspecting her the same way hers were.

“Jon,” Daenerys said, her voice cool.

“Daenerys,” he acknowledged in the same tone. “It’s been a while.”

“Should’ve been longer,” she retorted, a slight edge to her voice. She could not help it. Gods, did she despise this guy.

His lips quirked. There was no humour or warmth in the half-smile, though. “Still as sweet as I recall, huh?” It would not take a genius to depict the sarcasm with which he spoke.

She returned the icy smile, offering no condolences. He did not deserve her faux sympathy. She could pretend for Lyanna, but not Jon. Never Jon.

Their intense staring contest was broken off when a woman came by his side, curling a slim arm around his. Daenerys’ brow furrowed. She’d never seen this redhead before. Was this yet another Stark kid she forgot about?

“Who’s this?” the blue-eyed girl asked Jon softly.

“Ygritte, meet my aunt Daenerys,” Jon answered flatly.

“Oh,” her tone turned sour. “That’s _her_.”

Daenerys chuckled. “I wonder how much you speak of me, sweet nephew, for her to have such a strong opinion of me without ever having met me.”

“Most of us don’t need to meet you to know the kind of person you are,” Ygritte said darkly.

Before she could say something back to the horse-teeth girl, Lyanna was back.

“I was looking for you. Are you okay?” Jon sounded concerned as he let Ygritte go, moving to embrace his mother instead.

Daenerys crossed her arms over her chest, giving them a moment. All the while, she felt the red-haired girl’s eyes on her.

“I’m fine, honey,” Lyanna said quietly. “Daenerys…Rhaegar wanted you to have this. Once he knew his condition was critical, he wrote this for you.”

Daenerys took the cream-coloured envelope from her hands. Taking in a deep breath, she opened it. She could not wait to be home. She just needed the confirmation that the mansion was now hers. As it should’ve always been. Rhaegar never deserved their family's most prized possession, he gave up on it the moment he flew North. But Aerys explained how it was the tradition for the mansion to pass down to the eldest sibling and then if anything were to happen to that child, to the next in line. Now, Rhaegar was six feet under and _she_ was next in line. Her fingers shook with anticipation.

She read over the first paragraphs quickly, skimming over his ‘ _I’m so sorry I was not a good brother_ ’ sob stories. She went straight to the last paragraph.

_‘…and as you know, there is no one who deserves to own the Targaryen mansion more than you. However, I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. I don’t want you and Jon to have the strained relationship you and I had. This is why I want you **both** to own it. Together. You may be mad right now, but you’ll thank me later._

_Family is important, Daenerys._

_And Jon is your family. This is your chance to get to know him._ ’

Daenerys was a smart woman. She’d aced all her classes with straight A’s. But for a second, she felt like she did not know how to read. Heat rose to her face, surely painting her cheeks bright red with fury. “Tyrion,” she called, voice clipped, “Read this for me.”

In front of her, Lyanna, her son and that weird girl were exchanging strange looks.

Tyrion was quick to do as asked. “Oh,” he made a little worried sound.

“Does this say what I think it says?” Daenerys practically growled out.

“Yes,” the imp answered slowly, “Maybe there’s a mistake—”

“There’s no fucking mistake,” Daenerys spat and her eyes flew to Jon’s. “ _You…_ I don’t know what you did, how you—” Her eyes went to his mother, “Or _you_ managed to fool my stupid brother. Oh gods, why am I even surprised? Of course, he wants to give what little Targaryen heritage he had left to you! That bloody asshole-”

“What’s wrong with you?” Jon sneered at her. “We have no idea what you’re talking about. And Rhaegar is dead. Don't you have the minimum respect for your own brother?” He scoffed in disgust.

That was it. Daenerys was going to explode any second now. “Just so you know, this piece of paper—” She snatched it from Tyrion’s hands and tore it into little pieces, making Jon flinch as she threw them at his handsome face. “—It means nothing to me. My lawyer will be in contact with yours and we’ll solve this in no time.”

Daenerys inhaled to calm her nerves and turned to leave.

A Stark ruined her family.

She’d be damned if she let another one steal this mansion from her. She would have what was hers; even if she had to take it with fire and blood.


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t see the problem.”

Daenerys blinked once. “The problem is this mansion is supposed to be _mine_ upon Rhaegar’s death,” she slowly explained. “Which he is, by the way. I went to check.”

Missandei, her lawyer and closest friend, took another long look at the papers placed upon her desk before sighing and taking off her glasses. “When your father owned it, that was what was intended, yes. But he gave up all rights to it the moment he passed it down to Rhaegar. Rhaegar gets to decide how he wants to share his property and he makes his decision very clear. It’s both yours and Jon’s now.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.” Was she aware that she sounded like a petulant child? Yes. Very much so. Still, Daenerys shifted in her chair, upset. “Jon is not even a Targaryen.”

Missandei eyed her bizarrely. “Um…he is. His father’s a Targaryen. Daenerys, do I need to explain how bloodlines work for you?”

Daenerys scowled. “You know what I mean. Rhaegar wanted nothing to do with our family after he left. Neither does his son. Jon calls himself a Stark.” Even on social media, his usernames were always _jonstark._ He did not claim his father’s blood, so why should he inherit something that was clearly meant for true-blooded Targaryens?

“What he wishes to call himself or be does not matter. He never legally renounced his name. In all legal ways, Jon is as much a Targaryen as you are.” Missandei gave her a pained look. “As your friend, however, I am just as angry as you.” Finally, her voice morphed from the cold, professional one to a warmer, more comprehensive tone. “You deserve that mansion, Daenerys. More than anyone.” But her shoulders dropped regretfully. “I just don’t see how I can help you obtain it. Any lawyer defending Jon will find this case very stupid and very easy to beat. Your brother signed the contract and there’s nothing I can do to change it.”

“Nothing at all?” An edge of desperation overtook her voice.

Missandei pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, a thoughtful look on her face. “There’s…the easy way out.”

“Which is?”

“He sells his half to you,” Missandei offered. “Money’s not a problem for you.”

“It isn’t,” Daenerys accepted. But pride was. Buying the mansion from Jon was a sign of defeat and oh, how she hated losing. “Thank you, Missandei. I’ll sleep on it.”

Missandei smirked. “Your nephew is far up North. You said it yourself, he doesn’t think very highly of your family or you. Or King’s Landing. That mansion _is_ technically yours, Daenerys. I very much doubt Jon plans on moving down here. So, go get your keys and take this whole deal with a grain of salt.”

She did make a fair point. Admittedly, Jon only owned the place _on paper._ She remembered how happy Rhaegar’s son was in Winterfell. He had his cousins, his grieving mother, his strange girlfriend, a stable job… Daenerys allowed herself to relax. Missandei was right. Jon would never move to King’s Landing to _actually_ claim the mansion.

She had nothing to worry about.

* * *

It was raining when Daenerys got home. She shut the door behind her with a click and sighed. Her hair fell to her waist in thick, moist curls. She ran her fingers through it, cursing herself for having forgotten an umbrella.

“Here you are.”

She froze for a second and then blinked in recognition. “Dad?”

“Missed me, honey?” His voice came from the kitchen.

She let go of her hair, slowly following the sound of her father’s voice. “You’re back,” she stated plainly.

“Hm. So are you. From the North, I mean.”

Aerys was pouring himself a glass of whiskey when she finally found him. He glanced up, smiled, and went back to filling his glass.

“I am,” she replied. Aerys failed to attend his son’s funeral due to business matters abroad. Frankly, Daenerys knew it was just a stupid, vague excuse so he did not have to face the Starks.

“I’ve heard the news. That he left the mansion to you and….”

“His son.”

Aerys’ jaw ticked. “Where did I go wrong with him?” he asked quietly. “I gave him everything. All he did in return was humiliate me. From the moment he broke off the engagement with Elia Martell to handing the most important Targaryen possession to the son of this random woman.”

Daenerys spoke before she thought twice of it. “That was your mistake. You should’ve given me that mansion.”

Aerys’ pale eyes flickered up to hers, mouth taut.

Daenerys felt herself falter under his gaze. She lowered her eyes, an apology threatening to spill from her lips.

“You’re right.”

She looked back up, surprised.

“Unlike Rhaegar, I know you’ll never disobey me. Will you, Daenerys?” His piercing eyes found hers as he took a long sip from his drink.

Daenerys felt her breath hitch. That look was all too familiar to her. It made her skin crawl, it made her heart race, it made her stomach flip. “No,” she promised, voice small.

Aerys swallowed before ominously saying, “Good.”

She wished to ask what he meant but the courage to utter those words could not be found in her. Instead, she watched as her father grabbed his wallet and coat and made to leave. His visit made no sense to her—but she knew better than to underestimate Aerys. These words had a meaning, and she was afraid to find out what. “You should move in the mansion. It’s wonderful,” he commented before departing.

Daenerys breathed out as he left and took a moment to recollect herself and her thoughts.

Afterwards, everything was back to normal.

**ONE YEAR LATER**

“Fuck, yeah, I’m so close—urgh!”

Sweat dribbled down Daenerys’ forehead, her breathing laboured. Once it was over, she pushed him off her. Daario was too loud during sex and it bothered her more than excited her.

“I needed that,” he groaned, slightly out of breath.

“Yeah?” she asked unceremoniously. “Glad to provide.”

“I just don’t understand why it’s flopping. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? It was great, wasn’t it?” Daario peered at her with big, hopeful eyes.

As she stared into the eyes of this cocky, stupidly untalented man who did not notice that she did not even have an orgasm, Daenerys made a mental note to _never, ever_ date an actor in her life again.

In the beginning, it was a thrilling adventure. They met at a fancy party, he’d heard about her (being a Targaryen was enough, everyone knew who they were, no one truly cared what she did—only that she was rich and successful), she’d seen one of his movies. They were drunk, they danced, flirted a bit and, inevitably, they fucked.

Daenerys supposed it was her fault for having forgotten to tell him that she just wished to hook up.

Getting to know Daario was the less thrilling part of their relationship. He was obsessed with himself. Her jaw almost hit the floor at the number of mirrors he had in his house (over twenty, she still was not done counting). He said that self-love was very important, which she agreed with, but there was a difference between self-love and being a freak. He never cared about her day or her life. She was certain that he’d get her birthday wrong if she asked, despite them knowing each other for about seven months now.

But Daenerys was human. Sometimes, she got bored. Sometimes, she needed a quick fuck. Sometimes, she _liked_ being annoyed by his presence, as it made her feel less lonely.

This morning, he was going through a depressive episode. His latest movie was a flop in all sense of the word. Critics were harsh; one said that it was the type of movie you put in the background at night when you want to fall asleep—and Daenerys did have a small chuckle at that particular review because she did, in fact, fall asleep in the cinema at its premiere.

“It was amazing,” she lied through her teeth because being truthful would imply an argument and _gods,_ she was too tired for a fight.

“Exactly,” he muttered. “People just don’t understand art, you know.”

“Definitely.”

“They want easy, dumb, entertaining things. Sometimes, a movie has to be _deep._ You know what I’m saying?”

“Sure.”

“You just get me so well, babe,” he told her dreamily. “I want the whole world to know about us.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not going to happen.” Daenerys shattered his illusion right away, throwing the covers off her naked form as she sat up on her bed. She checked the time. “You should get going, I have work to do.”

“Wait wait wait, baby, why _not?_ Are you worried about what others would say? You’re one of the richest, most gorgeous businesswomen in King’s Landing and I’m one of the richest, most gorgeous actors. We make perfect sense together.”

Daenerys fetched her nightgown and made quick work to wind it around her body before turning to face him. “I like you,” she told him earnestly, “But my private life is exactly that. Private. You’re the one who lives in a cinematic world, not me. You like your life being on tabloids, not me. The only thing people should know me as is a woman with a successful career. Not Daario Naharis’ girlfriend.”

Daario was starting to protest and Daenerys could feel a headache bubbling but the moment he opened his mouth, the doorbell echoed in the speakers. They exchanged a look, knowing no one should be at her house this early. “Tyrion?” Daario guessed.

“I’m not expecting him,” she answered suspiciously. “Can you go out the window?”

His eyes widened. “What? That’s ridiculous!”

“I don’t want anyone seeing you here,” she offered, “Don’t be a baby. Just jump.”

Daenerys refused to hear more of his complaints, she gave him a hard look and went out. In quick steps, she made her way downstairs, the doorbell chiming twice before she finally got to the door.

Daenerys checked who it was first through the screen first and disbelief gripped her heart at the person the camera was pointed at.

_It couldn’t be…_

She opened the door cautiously.

The screen did not lie. Jon Stark stood in front of her.

“Daenerys.” His Northern accent was prominent as it curled around the syllables of her name. He always said it in a certain _way_ that got under her skin. She’d had men say her name like a prayer, others curse it over a lost business deal, Jon used it differently. Like she was nothing to him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not bothering to play nice. The last time they’d spoken, she’d torn his father’s letter to pieces and threw them at his face which twisted in anger as he yelled for her to get out of his house and never put another foot in there. Which she gladly obliged to.

“It’s nice to see you too.” Once again, his voice was as blank as his expression. To his credit, however, he never sounded spiteful when speaking to her. She sometimes wished he did as it would make hating him a whole lot easier.

Daenerys gripped the doorknob tighter. “If this is about—”

“The mansion?” he finished for her and looked around. “It’s more beautiful than any picture I’ve ever seen.”

 _And you haven’t even seen the inside,_ she would say if this was another person. To him, however, she frowned. “What is the meaning of this, Stark?”

He entered, gods take him, he came in like it was his place.

(Technically true but she ignored that.)

He spoke slowly, walking around, not facing her. “When my father left your family, he wanted no wealth, not a single thing from my grandfather, your father. He loved my mother so much he did not care about all the money he was leaving behind. The dirty money.”

“Not a single person who is as rich as we are is clean,” she told him easily. “You think millionaires come from luck? Being smart? Hard work and perseverance? No, it also takes sacrifices. Ones which my brother was too cowardly to make.”

“Love is not cowardice. If he’d stayed here, he would’ve been filthy rich but unhappy. Married to some woman he did not want, all because your father thinks of life as a business deal. Power moves. That’s all that matter to you Targaryens,” he said accusingly.

“Power moves _are_ all that matter,” she agreed with a smirk, “Any smart person knows that.”

“Do these power moves make you happy?” he asked and finally turned to her, eyes dark. “Are _you_ happy?”

She was taken aback. “Did you come all the way here to lecture me about happiness and wealth?” she retorted.

“I came all the way here because while my father refused everything else, he still kept this mansion. He wanted to have it. So it must have been important to him.”

“Speak clearly,” she demanded.

“I’m moving in.”

“ _What_?”

“You heard me, Daenerys,” he drawled, amused as he watched her face fall. “It’s summer. I’m taking some time off work. I’ll be engaged soon. I’m moving in with Ygritte for the holidays. This place is gorgeous, you could not have honestly thought I’d never make the best of it.”

Now, she truly felt like she was going to just die. “With Ygritte?” she asked incredulously. As if having him here wasn’t bad enough, he also wanted to bring his hateful girlfriend?

“We’re staying at a hotel tonight but I came to warn you,” he said with a smile. “This place is big enough for us not to have to see each other, don’t you think?”

“I hate you,” she blurted. “I absolutely hate you.”

“I would say the feeling’s mutual but it’s not. Not really. I feel bad for you, Daenerys. Always so bloody negative.”

“You’re doing this purposefully to irritate me. You’ve never liked it here—”

“King’s Landing is beautiful.”

“Bullshit.” She rolled her eyes. “When we were kids, you used to say that you hated this place.” On the rare occasions Rhaegar would journey South with his son, Daenerys remembered how distasteful he found her home—always comparing it to his _beloved_ Winterfell.

“I was just a kid then. You also said a lot of things when we were kids,” Jon reminded her. “I remember one time you said you were jealous of Arya and I—”

Daenerys scoffed. “You’re crazy.”

“Because you didn’t have friends,” he finished, quirking a brow. “I hope that’s changed. But given your attitude…”

He made her see red. The audacity he had, marching into her home, announcing that he wanted to spend summer vacation here, insulting her….

“Daenerys.”

Her furious words died on her tongue, head turning at the new voice. Daenerys cursed inwardly at the sight of a half-dressed Daario sprinting down the stairs, still buttoning his white shirt. “Sorry, I’m scared of heights,” he muttered with an apologetic smile.

She was too caught up in her nephew to care about Daario right then. “Just…go,” she said tiredly, pointing at the door.

Daario glanced at Jon, raised both brows while looking between the two of them. “Oh-kay,” he enunciated, stealing a quick kiss from Daenerys before walking out.

Jon huffed at her. “You’re allowed to have people here, but you act so surprised at the idea of me bringing my girlfriend to stay with me?”

“He was not staying here,” she shot back, not that it made any difference. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Jon.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked innocently.

She approached him slowly. “Winterfell is where you belong,” she told him, “You’ve said so yourself. This is _my_ home.”

“Aye, and I know that.” He did not flinch, not even as she stood less than a foot away from him. She had to give it to him—he did not scare easy. Her I’m-going-to-ruin-you stare worked on most people, most men, and usually had them fidgeting and stuttering away like idiots. But Jon wasn’t most people. And Jon wasn’t some businessman she had an enmity with.

Jon was _family._

Unfortunately.

“But you’ve forgotten that I am as much the owner of this place as you are.” To her surprise, it was him that took another half-step forward and suddenly, he was so close to her she could see the grey specks in his otherwise dark eyes. He was just a bit taller than her, but he looked strong while she was tiny. Still, Daenerys did not cower. “And I am just as much a Targaryen as you,” he whispered, knowing exactly what would jitter her nerves. His gaze mapped her face, as if he had never seen her before. Dropping to her mouth which was curled in anger before moving back to her eyes, his own a darker shade now. “Even if I don’t have _this._ ” A hand came up to brush a long strand of silver hair behind her ear.

Daenerys was surprised by the softness of his fingers against the hot skin of her cheek, a contrast to his icy cold words. Then, he was gone, out of her personal space before she could slap his hand away from her hair.

He gave her a smile before turning around. “See you tomorrow, auntie.”

She was going to _kill_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!! Smut is coming. I promise.


End file.
